Music in the Dark
by JennCvice
Summary: Years after the destruction of the Paris Opera, the daughter of Christine and Raoul is kidnapped by the Opera Ghost. The Phantom supposedly died in the fire...so is Erik truly a ghost, or is he still wandering through his domain, seeking revenge? In order to solve the mystery, Aveline will have to play the Phantom's game. (Based on an iPad game, longer summary inside.) Erik/OC
1. A New Journey

**Hello, readers!**

**This PoTO fanfic is quite unique. It is based on the iPad game "Phantom of the Opera: Mystery Legends." I'm a huge fan of hidden object games, and this particular title is my favorite. If you have an Apple device (…not sure if it's available for PC), I would recommend buying it. It's pricey, but worth it. Plus, Gaston Leroux's novel is included as part of the bonus content.**

**So, because most of you probably haven't heard of or played it, here's a synopsis:**

_**After fleeing from the Opera, Christine and Raoul begin a life together; they have a daughter, whom they name Evelina. The Phantom, Erik, is distraught, and burns down the Opera house. He was assumed to have died in the fire. Years later, Evelina has grown into the spitting image of her mother. She knows her mother was an operatic soprano in Paris, once upon a time, but apparently Christine prefers not to talk about it. As Evelina and her parents are leaving the theatre (not the Opera, as it is still abandoned), a young boy runs up to her and delivers an invitation. The wording is vague, but it demands that she return to the Opera and sing once more.**_

_**The next thing she knows, Evelina wakes up in the lobby of the Opera, listening to a male voice welcoming her back. She figures out that she has been mistaken for her mother, but she does the Phantom's bidding (solving puzzles, finding items, etc.) in order to bring him the black roses he demands. As she goes along, she discovers what happened between Erik and Christine all those years ago.**_

**I won't give away the ending, just in case you want to play, but that spoiler will be written into my fanfic. Feel free to close this (favorite/follow it first, if you don't mind), play the game, and then come back to read my story. If you're like me and you don't mind spoilers, read on. **

**Of course, I will be taking liberties with the storyline (adding in backgrounds, bridging plot holes), but I'll mostly stick to what the creators of the game generated as canon. Also, I hate the name Evelina (sorry pixelStorm), so I will be using the French version, Aveline (pronounced "AV-uh-leen"). **

**Disclaimers: Original novel by Gaston Leroux, game and basic story (including new character, Evelina, and book cover image) by pixelStorm Entertainment Studios, Inc. (distributed by Big Fish Games, Inc.)…embellishment by me.**

**Rated M for eventual adult content.**

Versailles was only starting to see the first vestiges of dusk, as a small family made their way through the busy streets. Departing the theatre district, the handsome couple and their daughter conversed about the performance they had just seen.

"Did you enjoy the play, Aveline?" The mother smiled fondly at her daughter, recalling her reactions to different parts of the show.

"Oh, yes!" Aveline exclaimed. "What was it like when you performed, Mama?"

The mother's smile faltered at the seemingly innocent question. Her husband responded quickly, sensing the tension building in his wife.

"Your mother was the most fantastic singer! She enthralled most of Paris with her heavenly voice."

"That was a long time ago, Raoul," she solemnly stated.

Aveline started to prod her mother for more information, when a young boy came bounding up to them.

"_Excusez-moi, mademoiselle,_" the boy interrupted. "A gentleman asked that I deliver this to you."

Startled by the unexpected correspondence, Aveline hesitated in grabbing the letter that was handed to her.

"For me?"

His duty done, the boy turned and ran away, without answering. Aveline stared after him and then turned her attention to the folded piece of parchment.

"What does it say, dear?" her mother queried.

"Yes, and who is it from?" her father added.

"It looks like an invitation…" their daughter clarified.

The headstrong girl declined to read it aloud, reveling in what little privacy she could manage. She read it to herself, as her parents respectfully awaited her to finish.

"_My dear angel, the time has come for you to return to your beloved Opera House to sing for me once more. I bid thee to perform one last time as both a favor for what was given to you and recompense for what you took from me._"

Their daughter's brow knitted in confusion as she read, but they did not pry.

She smiled and looked up at them.

"I think that poor boy had the wrong person. This was most definitely not intended for me."

The family scanned the area, looking for other young ladies for whom Aveline could have been mistaken. There were far too many women to pick through. The three family members all resigned the task, reluctant that there was no definitive way to find the letter's true addressee.

Aveline threw the strange letter into the closest trash bin and made her way back to the hotel with her parents. When they had arrived, her parents resumed packing their belongings, while their daughter watched.

"Mama," she began, recalling the invitation. "What was the Opera like?" Her mother rarely spoke of her days on the stage, which made Aveline crave to hear more of what was kept so guarded.

"It was…beautiful," her mother wistfully sighed. "Opulent and energetic. Mysterious and dangerous-"

"Dangerous?" Aveline interjected. She had never heard her mother use that word to describe anything from her past.

"Well, yes. There are a lot of props, scenery, and…people always bustling about." Her mother blushed and looked at her spouse. Sensing her discomfort, he stepped in to rescue her.

"It's there we were reunited, years after we had played together as children," he smiled fondly.

"I thought you were married while mother was at the Opera, Papa?"

"No," Aveline's father continued. "Back then, she was known as Miss Christine Daae. I was enraptured with her, from the moment I first heard her sing. We married after she left the Opera."

"And why did you leave, Mama?" The girl was troubled, confused with the fount of information she was suddenly privy to. "Why did you not continue to sing, when you were so wonderful?"

Her parents looked meaningfully into each other's eyes. Her mother was the one to answer.

"Because I wanted a different life."

"But-"

"No more, _mon précieux_." Her mother's voice was firm. "Now, are you ready for tomorrow?"

Aveline sighed, upset with the abrupt change in discussion topics.

"_Oui_, Mama," she confirmed. "I will be ready to meet with Madam Durand tomorrow morning for my first lesson."

"And you will write to us often?"

"Of course, as I find the time."

Finished with packing, her father kissed his daughter's forehead and embraced her tightly.

"I must go secure a carriage. Please be careful, Paris can be very dangerous. Do not go about unchaperoned. You are a young lady, and I expect you to act like it at all times." His words were strict, but his tone was gentle. "I love you very much, Princess."

"I love you, too, Papa," Aveline replied.

Her father left the room with the luggage, and she was left staring into her mother's misty eyes.

"Remember, you may return to Toulouse any time. There are plenty of reputable piano teachers close to home…"

"We've already spoken _many_ times of that fact, Mama," the daughter argued. "I want to be in Paris. I am only a train ride away."

"A very _long_ train ride," her mother countered. "Nevertheless, practice diligently, and I know you will make your dreams come true." Tears welled up, again, and soon she was sobbing between sentences. "You are such a blessing. I love you dearly, _ma fille précieuse_."

"I love you, too. I'll be fine! Now, go! Or you and Papa will miss your train!" They embraced and kissed each other's cheeks. Her mother wept as she walked away from her only child.

Alone in the room, Aveline sighed in relief. It had taken months of pleading for her parents to let her come to Paris. Toulouse was, indeed, a perfectly respectable city in which to receive musical training. But it had been home for the entirety of her eighteen-year lifespan. And it wasn't Paris. She had heard neighbors' and schoolmates' stories of the fabulous City of Lights, but she had never been. Now was her time to live life.

She sat on the chaise lounge that abutted the window and looked down at the street. Her mother met her father at the carriage; before allowing him to help her in, she glanced up at the window where Aveline sat. The two women waved final farewells. As the carriage drove away, Aveline's eyes raised to the horizon. She could only just make out the lights of the city she would soon reside in.

For some strange reason, her parents had refused to actually stay in Paris. They had settled on Versailles as a close alternative; for the past week, her family had seen everything the smaller city had to offer. Tomorrow, she would finally be a Parisian.

Growing up in Toulouse, Aveline had lived the charmed life of nobility. The daughter of a vicomte and a vicomtess, she had wanted for nothing…except adventure. Her parents were overprotective. When she had first mentioned moving to Paris to pursue her craft, they had refused to even allow her the possibility. She had secured tutelage under Paris' premier female pianist without their permission, but they had eventually conceded. Her determination had paid off.

Although Aveline was excited to master her instrument, sometimes she found herself wishing that she had a beautiful voice, instead. Her mother rarely sang, but when she did, her voice would make the birds nearby halt their twittering and listen. Through the years, her mother sang less and less: from nightly lullabies to occasional hummings of simple melodies. Her father noticed, too, but he did not press his wife to share her gift more frequently. Aveline could not understand why her mother had left the stage. A "different life"? What could be more worthwhile than sharing your talent with the world?

She shook her head and returned to the center of the room. Her baggage was packed for the carriage ride in the morning. All she needed was a good night's sleep and heartfelt prayers that Paris would be everything that she imagined. The prayers went up to God, but the quality of her sleep was definitely less than what she needed.

The next morning, she awoke as a child on Christmas morning. She took her time to get ready for her meeting with the intimidating Madame Durand. As she looked in the mirror, she took in the signs of her lineage. Most people told her that she bore a striking resemblance to her mother, but she felt that there were obvious differences worth noting: her hair was at least a shade or two lighter than her mother's dark brunette; her hazel eyes had come from her father; her lips were fuller than both of her parents'; and her skin was slightly more olive in tone.

She picked out a golden yellow dress with dark grey filigree and embroidery. After pulling half of her hair into a jeweled barrette, she was satisfied with her appearance. She walked to the window to see the sun's position in the sky, when she noticed the carriage parked out front.

He was early.

Figuring that the driver was as anxious to start his day as she was, Aveline shrugged and called for the bellhop to take her luggage down. She took one last tour of her room, put on her overcoat and gloves, and then made her way down to the lobby. The clerk at the front desk looked up and gave her a tired wave to match her own enthusiastic one.

Outside, the bellhop loaded her bags onto the carriage's back end, while the driver remained in his seat. She could not see his face, as he was bundled in a large cloth to stay warm.

"_Monsieur?_ Do you know where I am headed in Paris?"

The man barely turned his head toward the sound of her voice, but she saw the fabric nod along with his head. She frowned at the minimal effort. It did not seem that he would leave his post to help her in, either. Fortunately, the bellhop had remained nearby, and he was able to assist her. She tipped him well in gratitude.

From inside the cabin, Aveline heard a light crack of a whip, then the horses' hooves as they trotted down the cobblestone road. The window coverings were drawn, and she left them that way. She preferred to see nothing until she was actually _in_ Paris. In the dark, she leaned back to relax and contemplated the conversation she would have with Madame Durand.

The combination of the dark cab, her restless night, and the rhythmic motion of the carriage lulled her into a heavy sleep. She slept so soundly, that she did not notice the vial that the driver pushed through an opening in the ceiling. She didn't hear the glass shatter. She didn't smell the vapors that reached her nostrils. And she didn't feel her body slip into unconsciousness…as the drug did its work.


	2. The First Rose: Avarice

**Hello readers! Just a few quick clarifications:**

**I do not actually hate the name "Evelina," I dislike that the makers of the game used a name of ambivalent origin (that sounds Italian or Russian, when pronounced) instead of an obviously French name. "Aveline" is Norman French, and I just prefer the way it sounds for my story.**

**Due to the fact that I will mostly be following pixelStorm's storyline, those of you that **_**have**_** played this game will feel a little bit like you're reading a narrated walk-through. I am going to do my best to surmise most of the playing experience, cutting out as much of the menial tasks as I can. If I get things wrong/go out of order, I apologize. **

**I placed this story in the "movie" category because…I wanted to. Yep, I'm selfish like that. I felt that it would get more views than if I'd placed it in "Games: Miscellaneous." Besides changing Christine to a brunette and throwing in the destruction of the Paris Opera, this story will hardly resemble ALW's musical movie adaption. For a story that bridges ALW's PotO and **_**Love Never Dies**_**, please read my fanfic "His Consolation Prize" (still in progress).**

**Thanks!**

**Jenn**

The cold woke her. She registered that she was lying on hard tile. Her eyes slowly opened and struggled to take in her surroundings. The room she was in was moderately large and contained what looked like a ticket booth, a coat check, and the largest red curtain she had ever seen. Details remained hazy, as she struggled to focus on the shadows in the poorly-lit room. Carefully, she stood up from the ground; her overcoat and gloves had been removed, and the chill in the air made her shiver involuntarily.

Before she could explore her environment any further, a low voice rang out.

"Welcome back, my love. Your presence in the Opera House has been greatly missed. This time, you will not leave me."

She looked desperately around, but she could not find to whom the disembodied voice belonged.

"Bring me the black roses hidden inside this Opera House and I will remind you of that which you have forgotten."

"I think you are mistaken, _monsieur_!" she called out to the darkness. "I am not the person you seek! I have never been to this place before!"

She waited for a response, but none came. Sighing, she walked on steadier feet to the ticket booth. It was too dark to see within, but she could tell there was a mess of items inside. To the right of the booth, a large wooden puppet held out his hand to accept…something. In his other hand, a rope connected to the curtain was secured. She grabbed onto the rope and attempted to pull the curtain, but it refused to budge.

When she looked closely at the puppet, she saw that its face had been mutilated by black tar on the character's right side.

_Ugh! Who would disfigure a puppet?_

She walked to the coat check and noted a poster advertising a past production: "Don Juan Triumphant."

On the desk, a flashlight sat idly by. Relieved to have found something of use, she switched it on and made her way into the office. The disabled circuit breaker was in the center of the back wall. It was a frustrating trial and error process, but she was ultimately able to restore light to the Opera's entrance.

The ticket booth was now fully illuminated, and, after picking through the multitude of junk that lay inside, she found a single show ticket. When she placed it on the outstretched palm of the puppet's hand, the mechanical arm pulled the curtain away to reveal a cloud of dust and smoke.

Within the fog was a figure cloaked in black. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. His face was completely covered by a white mask, while the hood of the cloak obscured her view of his head. He reached a gloved hand out to her, beckoning her to come closer to his shrouded self.

"I have waited for this day for a long time. It has always been your destiny to be reunited with your Angel of Music. Do you remember the last time we were together? Let me remind you."

She was frozen in place, unable to respond and too scared to venture closer to her abductor.

"I despaired, watching you leave with _him_. I was your Angel of Music, and you were my muse. More than that, you were my everything! I desired nothing more in life, now that you had abandoned me. I set fire to my beloved Opera, but the rage at your betrayal burned beyond the destruction that soon smoldered around me. I knew that, one day, I would have my revenge."

The smoke around him intensified and then disappeared, taking the mysterious man with it.

"Wait!" she cried. "Who are you and why have you brought me here?"

"I am the Phantom of the Opera! Come to me!"

It was utterly pointless to argue with a madman, so Aveline proceeded to walk into the Opera lobby. If he needed these black roses before he was willing to listen to reason, there was only one thing to do.

The grand foyer was, at one time, as opulent as her mother had advertised. Now, in the wake of decay and neglect, the lobby was in ruin. The rich red carpeting was torn and stained from ash that had rained upon it. Gargoyles that were the centerpiece of the room's décor were missing faces and limbs; the pieces were strewn about the floor.

She made her way to the left and walked up the staircase to a hallway. Unfortunately, her exploration was halted when she saw that the entire floor had a thick layer of ice upon it. Ahead, there was some furniture, an entrance to a grand ballroom, a marble urn on the floor, and a doorway to the right. She frowned and made her way to the opposite hallway, not trusting her heels on the slippery surface.

The other hallway was well-lit and in relatively good shape. Beautiful statues of Grecian goddesses lined the way. In front of her, a door connecting to the outside was blocked by debris. On either side of the hallway were doors leading to new paths. To her left, the doorway invitingly bade her to enter into its firelight. Before walking through, a painting on the opposite wall caught her eye.

_Is that…my mother?_

She studied it for a moment and confirmed her suspicions. It most definitely was her mother. Judging from the younger countenance, she guessed that her mother was probably close to her own age, when the portrait was painted. Her mother's hair was lighter, matching Aveline's shade, although Christine's hair was much curlier. Admittedly, Aveline was almost a mirror image of the woman depicted. The painted copy of her mother smiled humbly in her breathtaking costume, patiently allowing herself to be admired by all.

Standing in front of a picture would get her nowhere with the masked man, so she pulled herself away and walked into the opposing room.

The fireplace blazed brightly, flooding what appeared to be a dining salon with its warmth and light. Aveline found two urns with simple pictures on their lids. The marble used to create them matched the marble that sat on top of the fireplace's mantle. Just below the mantle laid a black rose, encased in glass within the framework.

She placed the urns on the mantle, on top of weighted pedestals. There were three pedestals that were missing urns. Below each pedestal was a placard with four digits. She cocked her head in curiosity, understanding that she would have to find three more like urns to complete the puzzle and, presumably, retrieve the rose. On her way out of the room, she saw a random chess piece balancing on the broken table. Without asking herself why, she placed the piece, a knight, in the pocket of her dress and continued out the door.

The opposite door led her to another hallway, bathed in a blue glow, due to the snowstorm occurring outside. The windows that lined the left side were, thankfully, all secured tightly. The only sounds were her footsteps, which echoed off the high ceiling. On the right, a locked doorway stood in her way. Examining the locking mechanism, she was able to decipher its workings and open the door. Inside, a charming study awaited her.

She first approached a chess table that sat in the center of the room. The pieces were all missing, save for the white king that stood on the board. She placed the black knight down in check position and continued her tour of the small study. A cuckoo clock sat dormant on the wall. Moving the hands of the clock, Aveline was frightened when the bird flew toward her. She screamed and backed away from the mechanism to let her heart calm down. Reprimanding herself for not having more courage, she looked at the offending bird and noticed something strange: it was holding a key. She pocketed the key, unsure whether or not she might need it.

Leaving the study, she was delighted to find another marble urn sitting on a table at the end of the hallway. She grabbed it and returned it to the dining salon, pleased with her progress.

_Two more…_

She delved deeper into the recesses of the Opera House, pausing only when she heard the Phantom's voice reverberating in the hall.

"I gave you my music! I gave you _everything!_"

"Please," she pleaded, "just let me go! I have done nothing to deserve this!"

As if indifferent to her claims, Aveline suddenly heard the strains of a pipe organ playing a haunting melody. The music was surprisingly complex, although to the untrained ear it sounded quite simple. She could not stop herself from appraising the composition. She wondered if the Phantom had written it.

She made her way into a smaller foyer, where paintings and statues alike suffered from the abuse of time. She nimbly stepped over glass, stone, and splintered wood, only to find herself at another locked door. The key weighted down her pocket, and she smiled when it fit perfectly into the door's lock.

She opened the door to find a grand library. Gasping in delight, she stared at the many titles in fascination and awe. Aveline had always loved to read. Because her parents would rarely let her venture out on her own, the novels she had read were usually the best way for her to see what another life could be like.

On top of a pile of books, she saw another black knight. She collected it and went back to the study. Placing it on the chessboard, she muttered "check" and then glanced up at the picture above the table.

_The Green Faerie?_

The decorative advertisement was slightly tilted to the left, but when she tried to straighten the frame it fell from the wall. It had covered an elaborate safe. The door of the safe was a large grid of a mixture of single digit and Roman numerals. It seemed that each number had at least one duplicate, but it was difficult to tell, as they were in a random order. There didn't seem to be a pattern to them…what was the code? She noticed that there was only one Roman number three, so she pressed it. It took her a couple of minutes more, but she was able to find and select every unique number on the board. When she was done, the door swung open to reveal another urn.

She smiled victoriously and took the urn to the dining salon.

_One more…_

Leaving the salon, she contemplated returning to the library, but her common sense demanded that she find the last piece of the marble puzzle.

Passing the library, Aveline kept winding around the Opera's performance hall. The next corridor was a heavily damaged glass tube. She ran through quickly, hoping to find shelter on the other side. Instead, she found herself in an overgrown conservatory. What once must have been a garden of exotic plants and fountains had given way to chaos. The decorative statues were remarkably intact, but they took on a sinister appearance in the jungle-like atmosphere.

When she arrived at a gate, she saw that it led to outside the Opera. Thrilled that she had possibly found an escape, she pushed through the wrought iron and ran…into snow. She was stunned to see that, while Versailles had been experiencing mere flurries, Paris had snow in spades. Without her overcoat, she was exposed to the elements. Just as she was about to run in, she saw a light in the distance. It was a cabin!

She ran toward the small abode, desperately hoping that she would find a protector inside.

But when she reached the dwelling, there was no one there. She let herself in and felt immediate relief from the cold. The fire looked as though it had been burning for quite some time. Finding nothing in the cabin that could help her, she began to cry.

The weight of her situation fell hard upon her. She had been kidnapped by a madman who was playing some game with her. She wasn't sure if anyone knew her whereabouts. And with the weather less than congenial, she had no chance of escaping on foot.

As there was no furniture in the room, aside from a cluttered desk and a frozen chest, she kneeled to the ground and languished in her pitiful state. After the tears had subsided, she slowly rose. She had three choices: stay in the cabin and die, run from the Opera and die, or continue the quest that the Phantom had set out for her.

Warmed by the fire and resolved to not give up so easily, she left the cabin and began to run for the Opera House.

Aveline had almost reached the gate, when she saw vertical stones sticking up from the snow-covered ground. She was freezing, but what she saw made her pause. They were headstones. On the top of one of them was a four-digit number that looked familiar. It was the year of the person's death. The grave markers were too close to each other… Death… dates… The mantle!

Her hope surged as she sought to brush the snow away from each of the headstones. Each of them gave a name of a man, the profession he had practiced, the way he had died, and the year of his death. While her teeth chattered, she struggled to memorize the basics of the information, putting the dates together with the professions. Satisfied that she would remember enough of what she had seen, she ran back for the dining salon, almost tripping over a sandbag on the way.

Back at the site of the first black rose, she studied the urns. The images engraved onto the lids of the urns were simple: one had the outline of a rooted plant, another had wings, the third had what looked to be a mortar and pestle, and the last was a pistol. She recalled the professions of the men…a gardener, a priest, an apothecary, a sportsman, and an artist. Carefully, she swapped the urns until their pictures matched the dates of the deceased men that were most likely encased within them.

_Still the one more…_

The other hallway! It had been sitting on the floor, patiently awaiting her to acknowledge its existence. But the ice… she needed something to either melt it or facilitate it for walking. Melting it would take too long. Was there any salt lying about? No…

…_but there's sand…that just might work…_

She returned to where she had almost fallen, in the glass corridor. The bag of sand was small, but it was still heavy. Grunting in displeasure, she carried it to the iced-over hall. The sand dispersed over the ice, and she nimbly walked upon it to retrieve her prize. On her way to the final urn, she peered through the doorway.

The Phantom appeared to her in the vanity mirror of what appeared to be a ladies' lounge. He stared right at her, and she openly stared back. She could see him clearer, now. His shoulders were broad, but he was not overly muscular. The black hooded cloak that encased him was sleeveless and fastened underneath his neck; the sleeves appeared to have been torn off, as the edges of the shoulders were jagged and protruded from the rest of his ensemble. Underneath, he wore a long-sleeved black tunic with grey embroidered filigree that tucked into a large black belt. The belt had a bit of sheen to it, and she supposed it was made from leather. The mirror only barely showed the top of loose-fitting black slacks.

The mask he wore was a stark bone white. It was smooth, with sculpted cheeks and a menacing brow. Painted-on eyebrows gave it an angry countenance; a solitary drawn tear curled upon itself, underneath his right eye hole. The most menacing aspect of the veneer was the lack of a mouth. It was so strange, to see a mask with no opening for the wearer's mouth. It was as if no one had ever thought to add a hole or even a painted-on grin.

His eyes bored into hers. She could not tell exactly what color they were, but they looked to be a dark hue of either blue or green. The eye holes of the mask were rimmed in black, which made his colorful orbs glaringly visible amongst the two-toned attire.

"Do you like what you see?"

His words were not taunting. He was asking her seriously.

She stole away from him and grabbed the last urn to return it to its post. With all five urns returned to their proper places, the glass in the mantle of the dining salon slid away and presented its reward. She returned to the women's lounge and prepared to face the Phantom.

Unsure of what to expect, Aveline braced herself.


	3. The Second Rose: Wrath

The Phantom regarded her, as she displayed the first black rose.

"This is only the first step, my dear. Let me tell you how it all began…"

Was he an apparition? How was he floating in a mirror? She approached the mirror to listen more intently; perhaps seeing her up close would convince him that she was not the woman he thought her to be.

"The Opera was my creative property and domain. The managers who ran it disagreed, at first. When they refused to pay the salary I required, they were plagued by rather dangerous incidences that threatened their profits. They soon learned that the payments were well worth my cooperation…and the productions proceeded mostly unhindered."

The mirror shattered, and Aveline ran from the room, protecting herself from any stray shards that might fly toward her. She heard a crash and the sounds of glass hitting the wooden vanity and carpeted floor. When the room went silent, she dared to look back in.

The mirror was almost completely broken, save for a few jagged pieces that still held onto the frame. Apparently the mirror had hidden a secret passage that the Phantom had been standing behind. He was no longer there, but she had a strong feeling that he had destroyed the mirror to show her the next path she was to take.

She was about to follow him, but out of the left corner of her eye, the ballroom entrance invited her to see what it held. Putting off finding the next black rose, she strode over the sand and ice to see what lay inside.

Although it was poorly lit, Aveline could make out the figures of four mannequins. Three of them were suspended from the ceiling. The fourth was next to a large object and sat toward the back of the expansive room. When she approached it, she found that it was a mechanical puppet in the guise of an organ grinder. The puppet's hands rested on the organ's wind-up lever, and a mechanical pet monkey sat atop the musical instrument with a cup.

_I can't imagine that it will work without payment, but I don't have any coins with me._

She frowned and focused her attention on the other three mannequins. One was attached to the chandelier at the center of the ceiling, both of its arms linked above its head. If it was possible for a dummy to be held captive, this one most certainly was. The other two were a fair distance away from the bound dummy, linked together as if in the middle of a dance. One obviously represented the Phantom. It had similar attire and a full face mask, as well. The other looked…

_Oh my! Is that supposed to be my mother? What is going on?_

The mannequin had long brown curls that cascaded down its back. Aveline circled underneath it, amazed to see such a strong likeness of her mother, of herself, on a life-sized doll. She turned, again, toward the detained puppet.

_So…that's supposed to be my father?_

The overall tableau was disturbing and confused her even more. She had never met this "Opera Ghost" before. She had never stepped foot in the Paris Opera before today. Could the Phantom possibly have mistaken her for her mother? What part could her family possibly have to play, in his plan for revenge?

Shaking her head, she left the ballroom and her questions behind, continuing onto the next part of the theatre.

Maneuvering through the vanity in the ladies' lounge was incredibly difficult in her long dress. She swept as much of the glass and debris away with a mop she found in the corner of the room, but she still had to be wary of stray shards. Climbing through, she found that there was a small loft behind the mirror. Shelves housed bottles of wine and liquor, along with blueprints and maps of the Opera House. A stagehand's notes were messily strewn about. She stepped down onto a fixed stool, confused as to why anyone would keep such a small workstation. When she turned around to face the room she had come from, she gasped.

The mirror pieces that had remained in the frame had reflected the contents of the room back to her on one side. From the side she was currently on, the mirror was nothing more than glass, showing everything that the lounge had to offer.

_What kind of perverted person sat here? _

Although she wanted to blame the Phantom, the stage notes, assorted props, and blueprints that cluttered the area suggested that the spying area had originally been used by some voyeuristic crew member or manager.

She looked around and noticed a ladder that led to a lower level. She prayed that she would find a way out somewhere under the stage. Perhaps she would find a blanket, or a long-forgotten winter coat. Surely the Opera House was not on the outskirts of Paris. If she could find a way off its extensive grounds, there would have to be another business or at least someone's home close by.

Once she was down the ladder, she found herself in a basement, of sorts. There was a huge Egyptian sarcophagus, several crates that hid boxed-up contents, paintings, scrapped set pieces, and other miscellaneous items, all packing the underground space. On her right was an open doorway, but the mess inside was hardly worth picking through. It was clearly a prop room, with an array of ghastly and fantastic sights to behold. Her eyes flitted around the room and landed on yet another black knight.

_How is it that I have only found black knight chess pieces? Where are the other pieces and how many sets are there?_

She took the piece and left the messy room.

The next door she came to was to the left, not far from the prop room she had just perused. Opening it, she saw another mess of items…mostly instruments. She looked up and saw that she was in the orchestra pit. Here, the musicians would have played, unseen by the audience, even as they created the magical ambience to accompany what was going on onstage.

She rolled her eyes and looked around her. No matter how well she played, she could never hope to be a part of any production. It was not suitable for a lady such as herself to indulge in any type of working endeavor. The most she could hope for was that, after marrying, her husband would be lenient with her free time, and she could teach others a craft that she herself had mastered. Aside from playing casually for parties they would inevitably attend, her talent would never see a wide audience. A female singer could be a star. A female pianist…could be a teacher.

Only the best of the best could hope to play for symphony halls as a concert pianist. Madame Durand had done precisely that. She had forgone marriage and a family to follow her dream, for it was nearly impossible to find a gentleman that would abide a wife that completely outshone him. Aveline would be expected to marry within the aristocracy, and keep her passion for music as nothing more than a hobby.

The piano that had dutifully played for what must have been a multitude of productions was in shambles in the center of the room. Other warped instruments laid on top of it, and the charring in this area was worse than most of what she had seen in the Opera House.

_The fire must have originated here. Or somewhere nearby, _she mused.

When she turned away from the sad piano, the Phantom's imposing figure stood in a mirror before her, watching silently. The almost full-length looking glass showed that his loose slacks were tucked into black boots that covered his shins. It gave him an even more intimidating appearance, as if he was some Persian or Arabian black knight.

Her hand impulsively went to her pocket, clutching the chess piece that lay inside.

_A black knight…a white king. A fighter with limited resources and a wealthy dignitary. The Phantom…and…my father?_

Misinterpreting her action, the Phantom interrupted her train of thought.

"Have you brought me another black rose, my sweet?"

She shook her head at the masked man.

"Then prove your love to me, and bring me another black rose!"

Aveline's eyes narrowed in defiance.

"I will not! I do _not_ love you…I don't even know _who_ you are!"

"I am Erik," the figure simply stated.

"Well, Erik, thank you for _finally_ introducing yourself properly. Allow me to do the same. _I_ am Aveline. I cannot be who you think I am, for I have never set foot in Paris, let alone the Opera House, before you brought me here! I demand that you let me go!"

"BRING ME ANOTHER BLACK ROSE!" the Phantom ordered.

Aveline's confidence wavered at his yelling. She stepped back away from the mirror and slowly walked out the door. Behind her, she heard him call out to her.

"This time, I will _NEVER_ let you go!"

She shuddered at the threat, and continued down the hallway. She needed to find another rose.

At the end of the underground lair was an elevator. A dummy of Hamlet was stationed to its right, while another doorway appeared to its left. The lift was chained and padlocked shut. Sighing at the dead end, she instead made her way to her right, through the last doorway on the floor.

She was now, apparently, under the actual stage. Some Egyptian-looking props were housed in mini-lifts that still awaited instruction. Suspended above her was a large metal box, about the size of a casket. Her eyes followed the ropes that held it down to a lever on the right of the open area. Careful to stay out of the path of the large object, she pulled the lever and watched the box as it was lowered down to her.

It settled heavily on the ground which caused her to wonder at its contents. All she had been hoping for was a flower. Unfortunately, the container was secured tightly. It looked as though it was missing a key component from the seal it was emblazoned with. Whatever was absent had been a round disc. She pursed her lips and thought about how to go about finding the missing article.

_Well, this is some type of pulley system for sending props up to the stage level,_ she deduced. _Perhaps what I need is a prop?_

It was as good of a place to start as any. Aveline returned to the quagmire of the prop room and began to rummage through its contents. She found a couple of disc-shaped items, but neither were large enough to fit in the seal. When she came upon a larger golden disc with an image of the sun, she prayed that it would be what she was looking for.

The disc, indeed, fit perfectly into the slot. She heard a grinding noise, as if something underneath was unlocking. When she opened the seal, she was met with a most gruesome sight.

Two skeletal hands clutched a black rose. She screamed, and she did not go unanswered.

"The stagehand, Joseph Buquet, had to die. I did what I had to, for our love."

Seeing the rotted corpse strengthened her fear of the Phantom. If Erik was a murderer, then she would do whatever she had to, in order to ensure her safety.

"The Angel of Music is waiting for you," the voice called to her.

Squeamish at what had to be done, Aveline whimpered as she tried to pull the second rose as swiftly as the dead hands would let her. Once it was freed, she fled the coffin and ran back to the Phantom.


	4. The Third Rose: Pride

When she presented the second black rose to the Phantom, his cerulean eyes flashed.

"Joseph should have focused solely on his responsibilities as a stage hand. Instead, he chose to hunt the Opera Ghost, a decision that would prove to be a fatal error in his judgment. My tolerance spent, the Punjab lasso found its way around the meddling man's wretched neck."

Aveline's hand flew to her own neck, picturing the grisly murder and the corpse that was left behind.

As her lips parted to speak, a small explosion flared underneath the long mirror. The Phantom stood calmly, unconcerned by the fire that erupted below. Aveline fled the room. Her sense of self-preservation over-rid her curiosity to question her abductor.

But, as quickly as the flames had appeared, they subsided. She cautiously peeked into to the orchestra pit, expecting to see a raging fire, but there was nothing. No fire, no sound…and no Phantom. The mirror was empty; she stepped closer to it and saw only her own bewildered reflection. The bottom of the mirror was charred, and a strange mixture of powder and ash lay in a pile on the floor.

_Is he a magician, as well as a murderer?_

Examining the pile further, she barely made out a steel key that was nestled among the grey. She picked it up and took it straight to the only locked item in the basement: the padlock on the elevator. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when she heard the familiar click, and she pulled the chain off the door.

The elevator was frightening, in appearance. It was rather like a large, rickety, wooden crate. On the right wall, a colorful poster promoted a showing of _Hannibal_. The _prima donna_ featured was none other than Christine Daae.

Aveline was shocked. She had always assumed that her mother was a featured singer, from her father's compliments, but not _the_ star. Her jealousy surged, seeing her mother's maiden name on the advertisement. She would never have that. If _she_ had the voice, she would never leave the stage.

But she didn't. That talent had not been passed down to her.

She bravely stepped into the lift and pulled the lever. As it noisily ascended to ground level, she picked up a scrap of paper from the floor. It was addressed to an unfamiliar name and detailed the order of a small cast of characters: the villain, the hero, the heroine, the seductive sister, and the matron. The elevator stopped and automatically opened its door. She let the note fall back to the floor and walked into a new part of the Opera House.

_Looks like a bunch of dressing rooms… I must be backstage._

The first thing she examined was her immediate surroundings. The elevator had opened into a rather large room. It was comfortable, if a little cluttered, with a couch that had seen many performers lounging upon it. She passed a large mirror that, thankfully, only showed her own reflection as she passed by.

In the next room, bolts of fabric leaned against corners, spools of thread lay unraveled on the floor, and sewing machines rusted on damaged tabletops. On a pile of fabric, Aveline found another note. The five characters that had been mentioned on the previous scrap of paper were given costume direction: the villain in the predictable black, the hero in blue, the heroine wearing white, her sister dressed in sultry red, and the delicate matron in fair pink.

Aveline abandoned the note and walked through the doorway to her left. She had barely taken in her settings, when the electric lights flickered and dimmed. Her eyes automatically darted toward the mirror in the room; smoke appeared to swirl behind it, within it. And, eventually, the Phantom showed himself.

"You have come so far. But do you have the courage to see this through to the very end? Bring me another black rose, and I shall have no reason to doubt your devotion!"

She was tempted to retort, but she pursed her lips shut and nodded curtly. The lights returned to their normal setting, but the smoke continued to billow around both the Phantom and the mirror. She was in a ladies' changing room. The mirror that contained the mysterious Phantom was, in fact, a very wide vanity mirror…complete with a frame of light bulbs, for optimum makeup application. Opposite the vanity station was a ceiling-high set of shelving that housed wigs, makeup items, accessories, and other miscellaneous odds and ends.

What caught her eye was something that was quite out of place: a black knight chess piece. She still had the third sitting in her pocket, so she added the fourth. She hadn't yet ventured back to the study, but she had a feeling that she would be adding the two new chess pieces to the board quite soon.

Leaving the Phantom and the changing room behind, she walked to another doorway at the opposite end of the sewing hall. The doors' handles were beautifully ornate; Aveline hesitated to touch them, afraid that her fingers would mar the gold and pearl inlay. She finally pushed them open and walked into a woman's private dressing room.

She gasped.

Everything around her was lovely. This solitary room seemed untouched by the fire that had wreaked havoc on the Opera House. Unlike the rest of what she had seen, the dressing chamber was bathed in luxury. A soft purple glow stretched over the room, from what looked like black candles. Upon closer examination, Aveline realized that the candles were actually light fixtures with violet hued bulbs. Fresh red rose petals were strewn about the floor, but ended just before a strange wall.

Her eyes swept the room from left to right. A richly dressed mannequin stood in front of an étagère full of memorabilia and gifts. A vanity with several undisturbed items stood their right; of the bits and pieces occupying the tabletop, a music box without its topper awaited attention. She would have to keep an eye out for its missing part. The vanity's mirror was, mercifully, vacant. She supposed that the Phantom was still in the ladies' dressing room, where she had left him.

On the right side of the room, a fancy armoire complimented the vanity. To its right stood a curtained doorway, which, when pushed aside, revealed many gorgeous gowns and costumes. Lastly, a dressing screen stood ready to preserve a lady's modesty…if the need ever arose, again. More shelving with perfumes and makeup were affixed to the wall just behind it.

The centerpiece of the room was a rather large slab of mahogany that appeared to be fastened to the back wall. It had strange carvings that gave it a hard, yet elegant presence. At eye-level was a triangular recess…

_Wonderful…something else to look for…_

Five hearts encircled the bottom of the crest that the triangle was featured upon, with four skeletal hands holding the crest in place on the wall. The whole thing was bizarre to behold. Aveline stepped back.

Having examined the room in a general fashion, she focused on what was useful. The only thing that stood out was a pair of opera glasses that sat on the vanity's stool. She carried them out of the room, hoping that they would help her in her quest.

Aveline continued walking through the backstage area; although she would never admit it, she secretly relished being able to glimpse a world that she had always been enamored with.

When she was five years old, her mother hired a private piano teacher. Christine recognized the same love for music that she once had. Her daughter's passion eclipsed her own, and she wished to indulge her only child.

Aveline had been an apt pupil, wishing to impress her musically-gifted mother. On occasion, she would let it slip that she coveted her mother's angelic voice, but her mother would rush to soothe her. Christine would always state the same truism: "If every songbird in the heavens was a robin, think of the beautiful music that we would be missing."

Subconsciously, Aveline's free hand stretched its fingers, longing to stroke ivory keys. The occupied hand still dutifully held onto the opera glasses that she had rescued from the previous room.

She peeked into the next doorway she came to, but did not venture inside. There were many large pipes mounted in the walls, with a large boiler in the far back of the room. The heat spread throughout the entire backstage area, and Aveline realized that this was the only part of the Opera that had not given her goosebumps. Aside from its warmth, there was nothing else that the room could offer.

At the end of the backstage hall was a winding staircase. Curious to see where it would lead, she warily climbed the wrought iron steps. She emerged on the rooftop.

Snow was still falling, but now it softly floated down to the earth. She held her hands and the binoculars to her chest, trying to keep them as guarded from the cold as possible. She suddenly missed the fire of the boiler room.

Slowly, she made her way to the edge of the roof. She was higher from the ground than she had thought. And when had night fallen on Paris? Was Madam Durand concerned for her? Or did she suspect that her new pupil had forfeited her chance to study with a highly sought-after instructor? Aveline's jaw clenched in frustration. She had worked so hard to secure her spot. Would she still be able to learn from the world-famous musician, once she was free?

_If I am freed…_she reminded herself.

There was no one below. The Paris Opera was surrounded by businesses that were all closed for the evening. Scattered in the distance were lights of various residences, but not a soul dared to be out in the cold at such a late hour. She thought about calling out, anyway, but the Phantom's voice rang out over her.

"It was here that you broke my heart!"

The words seemed closer, this time. The proximity of his voice was unnerving, and she rushed back downstairs to the warmth and security of the backstage area. How had he known she was up there? How was his voice following her throughout the Opera House?

Arriving downstairs, she rushed straight into the boiler room. She did not wish to check the ladies' dressing room for the Phantom. If he was there, he must be a ghost. If he wasn't, then he was flesh and blood and was stalking her. Both scenarios frightened her.

She soaked up the fire's glow, trying to stay as clean as possible amidst all the soot that had accumulated on the ground. However, when she looked down, she saw that her originally pristine gown was now stained with mud, ash, and only God knew what else. A little soot would only diversify the host of elements ruining her dress.

At the far end of the room, hidden in the shadows, was a metal grate that served as a door. The locking mechanism was similar to what she had already solved on the door to the library. She patiently repeated the trial-and-error process; her diligence saw yet another puzzle solved. Once opened, there was only darkness.

On the ground, near the furnace, a pile of unlit torches were ready for use. Aveline put the binoculars down and retrieved a torch from the heap. The fire easily lit the wadding on the end, and she held it well away from her flammable attire.

The light provided an impressive circumference of visibility around her; however, the fact that she was walking in what appeared to be a dried-up sewer was not cause for celebration. She heard squeaking and the sound of small rodents' paws scratching on the stone around her. She fought the urge to scream and hurried down the path. At the first chance she had, she exited the sewer canal.

Steps led her up to a strange room. It was pitch black, which made her pause and send a prayer in thanks for the light she had brought with her. She was only able to register parts of the room as she passed: rows of pews, a broken lantern on the floor, more steps that led up to an altar with…

Aveline let out a high-pitched scream. Five cloaked figures were stationed around the platform. She almost dropped the torch, as she leapt away from them. But they did not pursue her.

She let out a deep breath and confronted the statues. Their hooded heads showed no faces, but the skeletal hands that they held out were frightening enough. For each of the figures, one hand held a stone dagger with a cobra handle; the other hand was pierced by the dagger and a thick black substance exuded from it, collecting in a basin. It was the most macabre ornamentation that Aveline had ever seen.

Shaking her head, she looked to her right, where a stone door was barely ajar. She pushed it open, expecting to see another room, but she was once again outside. From the macabre to the truly morbid, Aveline was now walking through a snowy graveyard. She was thankful that the snowfall had stopped, but the cool night air actually made the climate around her seem colder.

Sculpted angels gestured to various burial plots around her, but she headed to the very back of the cemetery. Stone steps led her to the top of an honored plot. A mausoleum had been erected to someone of prestige, apparently. The door was inlaid with four gruesome skull masks, and an angel sang a silent song at the archway of the rooftop. Statues in the image of Death were mounted on either end of the door, holding scythes and standing guard.

Clasped in the angel's right hand was a black rose.

Aveline looked around the crypt, but she saw nothing that would help her obtain the rose. It was far above her reach. Her teeth chattered audibly, and she tested the sepulcher's doors. They parted and allowed her entrance.

Inside, she saw a single stone coffin. It truly was a significant burial, if the tomb only housed a single occupant. Both sides of the room were lined with candelabras, but no light emanated from their tapers. A beautiful angel with demonic wings held a dagger aloft, ready to plunge it into the sarcophagus that lay beneath it.

The only telling piece of information was found on a small placard on the casket.

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses,_

_Helpless to resist the notes I write…_

_For I compose the music of the night._

Comprehension dawned on her.

_This is the Phantom's tomb. Have I been at the mercy of a ghost, then? He seemed so real…_

On top of the coffin were several recessed circle shapes. The circles were randomly dispersed upon and within five lines. The longer she looked at it, the more it looked like sheet music. The five lines represented a clef, either treble or base, and the holes were where the notes would fall.

…_music of the night…_

What did that mean? What was the music of the night? She did not know what went in the round spots, nor did she know how the makeshift sheet music was supposed to read.

She left the crypt and returned to her previous objective: the third rose.

There was nothing near the vault that would help her knock the rose out of the angel's hand, but searching around the graveyard yielded a most useful tool. Triumphant, she grabbed an iced-over shovel and returned to the crypt entrance.

The rose fell to the ground, and, as she picked it up, she counted a small blessing of being able to return to the warmer indoors…where the Phantom would indubitably be waiting.


	5. The Fourth Rose: Envy

The ladies' dressing room was just as Aveline had left it. And the Phantom still appeared in the confines of the vanity mirror's frame. Smoke still billowed around the image of the Phantom, the frame around him, and now the floor of the room. She didn't want to step inside, afraid of being in close proximity. The last time she had delivered a rose, a fire had burst near the Opera's ghost. The time before that, shards of glass had exploded out from where he had previously been.

She remained just outside the doorway and held up the third black rose.

"You sang so beautifully for me. I watched you from my box, Number Five, as your heavenly voice pierced my very soul. Raoul could not remain seated, he was so enraptured with you. I prided myself on how well I had taught you, and I knew that you would be mine, forever."

As he had divulged more of her mother's past, the smoke had increased to Aveline's eye level. She fanned it away from her face, not wishing to inhale any of the vapors; before she had any true cause to worry, a great gust of wind flew about the room. The smoke dissipated, while playbills, makeup, trash, and costume pieces were thrown about. The mirror went completely black, as the wind whipped through.

Aveline remained in the entry, determined to see whether or not the Phantom would appear in corporeal form. Her hair whipped around her face, blinding her during the uproar. When the mirror returned to normal, the wind subsided, as well. She struggled to right her hair, hoping that she hadn't missed anything of importance. The Phantom was, once again, gone from view. The room was now littered with a mess of items. Frustrated that she had not seen the Phantom make his exit, she grabbed a hairbrush from the wreckage and untangled her locks.

"I will _kill_ Raoul, for taking you from me!"

Such a maleficent statement could not go unanswered, in Aveline's opinion.

"Raoul, _my father_, took nothing from you by force! My mother chose _him_, not you! How dare you threaten my father!"

"I will have my revenge," the Phantom responded. His voice seemed to trail off, at the end of the sentence. Aveline wondered where he was heading, or if he was able to throw his voice, like a ventriloquist, to confuse her.

She dropped the rose next to the brush on the table. Nothing else in the room was useful, so she headed back to the elevator. She could return to the backstage area and see if there was anything she had missed…or perhaps the lobby.

When she reached the lift, she paused, taking inventory of what she had and what was left to do.

Two chess pieces, a pair of opera glasses…the triangle shape in the private dressing room, another black rose to find…the "music of the night" puzzle in the crypt…

She looked around herself. When she had originally come through this area, she had only quickly assessed her surroundings. Perhaps she had noticed the trunk of odds and ends that sat under the mirror, but most likely not; if she recalled correctly, her attention had been on the mirror itself, terrified that the Phantom would materialize within its frame. He still was not present, not that she could see, so she rummaged through the items.

Nestled in the clutter was a porcelain ballerina statuette. The bottom of the figurine was oddly shaped. Instead of having a base, the girl's pointe shoe ended in a hexagonal contour. It had stood on something once. Aveline smiled and brought the ballerina with her to the private room.

She gingerly placed it into position on top of the music box. The action triggered the mechanism into its song and dance, as if the ballerina was picking up where she had left off. The tune was unfamiliar to her, but she found it to be relaxing. After a minute, the performance ended, and Aveline was rewarded with a single gold franc. The coin was placed in the same pocket with the two knights.

Also inside the music box was a small oval locket. When opened, there was a picture of her father on the right side and an etched message on the left. "_Anywhere you go, let me go, too_." Tears welled in her eyes and her heart wrenched at the idea of never seeing her father again. She momentarily put the opera glasses down on the table and fastened the locket around her neck.

She left the room that had clearly been her mother's. The strength to continue came from both of her parents. She was beginning to understand what they had to endure at the Paris Opera House.

_No wonder they avoid Paris._

The lift was just as rickety on the way down to the basement. Aveline didn't realize she had been holding her breath, until the elevator had stopped. She stepped out and made her way through the familiar passage back to the ladder.

Now that she held the glasses in her hands, getting through the two-way mirror was a little tricky. When she heard the tell-tale sound of fabric ripping, she growled her frustration. The hemline of her dress had caught on a protruding glass shard. She almost laughed at the ridiculous state of her outfit, but she kept going.

She glanced down the hall toward the ballroom. Was there anything left to do there? She couldn't remember. Frowning, she returned to the mannequin display and scanned the room. Smiling in recognition, she confidently strode to the organ grinder and placed the franc she carried into the monkey's empty cup.

Truthfully, she hadn't anticipated that anything would actually happen. Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, when the organ began to play jubilant music. Behind her, she heard the sounds of pulleys being activated; she spun around in time to see the three puppets being lowered from their spots on the ceiling.

The dummy of her father still had its hands bound, while the dolls of her mother and the Phantom held onto each other in a frozen dance.

Aveline was suddenly very angry at the picture the Phantom was trying to create. Her mother did not belong to him and never would. The audacity of the madman trying to rewrite her family's future…it was not to be born.

And then she saw a flash of silver at the side of the Raoul puppet. A small sword. She grabbed it and swung it over the dummy's hands. The model of her father collapsed to the floor, now looking as if it was exhausted from being the Phantom's hostage for so long. Pleased that she had officially ruined the Phantom's presentation, she cut the ropes that suspended the Phantom's puppet, as well. It, too, collapsed to the ground.

"Is _this _how you repay your Angel of Music?"

Aveline ignored the Phantom's outburst and studied the scene before her.

Oddly, the arms of the Phantom look-alike fell into a position that attempted to shield the dummy Phantom's face. Something had detached; she stepped closer, wondering if the mannequin's face would show what the true Phantom's countenance was…behind their masks.

But the doll's mask was still in place and it refused to budge. However, what had fallen off was a piece of another mask.

_One piece of mask attached to the dummy's full mask? Why?_

She picked it up and examined it. The portion of mask was exquisitely detailed, whereas the doll version's was incredibly simple. Could it be another clue? Another piece of a puzzle?

The mask piece was rather large, so it would not fit into her pocket. Having the strangest feeling that it would be needed later, she abandoned the weapon and carried both the opera glasses and the half-mask in her hands. She then set out for the study, eager to decrease the amount of items in her possession.

The chess table was as she had left it. The two existing black knights were in check positions, semi-surrounding the white king. She set the mask part and the binoculars down on a chair and smoothly grabbed the two knights from her hidden pocket.

The Phantom wanted her father dead. If the white king represented her father and the black pieces were the Phantom, she needed to continue the black knights' attack on the king. She placed the third into check position, hating the symbolism that she now associated with this little mini-game. After placing the final piece, she muttered "checkmate."

It was not a true checkmate, she knew. She had played the game with her father on many occasions. But, with four knights on the playing field, the solitary white piece would eventually be captured.

A small click was heard from underneath the board, and a secret drawer popped out from underneath. Inside was a rather large amount of money. Aveline certainly hadn't been expecting a wad of bills to be hiding underneath an innocuous game.

"My salary was 20,000 francs per month. It was a modest sum, compared to the profits made by those insufferable owners."

She counted the bills and found, unsurprisingly, that it totaled 20,000₣. Obviously, she needed the money for something.

After leaving the study, she wandered around the first floor. The library, dining salon, corridors, and conservatory yielded no new information. She sighed and returned to the main foyer, where the grand staircase would lead her down to the entrance hall. As she passed the debris-blocked arena entrance, the Phantom's voice boomed above her.

"Perhaps you should see the point from which I watched you perform: Box Five!"

_I guess I should take that as a hint_, Aveline surmised.

She had not checked the balcony, she realized. _No wonder the Phantom mentioned it. He must be aggravated that I have not been moving at his pace._

At the end of the lobby, she saw a dark archway that had been blocked off by a single velvet rope. Unlike the carpeting, the rope was still a vibrant red. She undid the rope from its clasp and let it hang to the floor.

Once she was upstairs, she read the numbers at the tops of each door. A patron had to be willing to pay the maximum fare to be seated in a luxury box. It was no wonder that the Phantom felt entitled to watch every performance in such style. When she arrived at number five, she pushed the door open and stepped through.

"I watched you every night, from up here."

Aveline had become accustomed to the Phantom's voice following her through the Opera House. Although it sounded closer than ever, now.

She walked to her left and stepped down into the seating area. The place was poorly lit, but she could tell that the entirety of the great auditorium was charred beyond repair. The fire the Phantom had started completely decimated the stage, orchestra pit, and orchestra-level seating. Burn marks along the walls and ornamental decorations showed where the fire had licked up the sides of the Opera House, determined to make it to more fuel. She shook her head at the sad sight and walked back up to a closet that she had seen.

The opera glasses still weighted-down one hand, and she was eager to be rid of them. She hadn't needed them thus far, and she couldn't fathom that she would find a use for them, outside of this box. She held the miniature binoculars up to her eyes, and surveyed the Opera House through the magnified lenses.

They merely showed more destruction, albeit with more acute detail. Passing along the rail of the balcony, she screamed in fright when the Phantom's menacing face filled her view. He had to be right in front of her! She dropped the opera glasses and heard them shatter at her feet, as she stepped back.

There was no one there.

_He was! I just saw him! He was right at the edge of the rail! He truly IS a ghost!_

Her heart seemed to thud against her chest at a thundering pace, but she forced herself to step back down into the box. On the rail was a thick layer of dust…except at the very center, where hand-sized imprints displaced the years of neglect.

She attempted to look over the rail, hoping to catch a glimpse of her stalker, but the height made her queasy. She had never liked heights. There were some people that were incapacitated by their phobia of high places. Luckily, she had never experienced such a hijacking, but her fear _did_ limit how long she could stand being near a ledge.

After a few deep breaths, she walked up to the closet door. It was locked. _Of course._

Beside the doorway was a small wooden mannequin of a ballerina. Her eyes were closed, and she held out an empty dish. Aveline placed the money in her pocket onto the pedestal. The dish dropped and the mannequin's eyes opened, as the closet doors unlocked.

She had assumed that she would find a small area for patrons to place their coats and accessories; in actuality, the door led to a small parlor, where ladies and gentlemen in attendance could rest during intermission, away from the masses below. The Phantom, however, used it for a very different purpose.

There were hundreds of playbills in multiple stacks, long-retired props from previously staged operas, paintings of her mother, dried-out roses in various vases strewn about…

The parlor was a shrine to both her mother and theatre. _His two passions_.

She examined the room's contents, hoping that something would stand out. Something did, indeed. In the far corner, half of a mask leaned against the wall. She crossed over to it and picked it up. It was about the same size and shape of-

_Wait a minute,_ she frowned. _What happened to the other half-_

Aveline walked back to the site of the ruined opera glasses. In her shock, she hadn't registered that she also dropped the piece of mask. When both pieces were combined, they formed an image of the Phantom's full mask, but more in the shape of an upside-down triangle.

_AHA! I know where this goes!_

She left the balcony area, rushing down the stairs and back into the lobby. Before retracing her steps to the backstage area, she returned to the Opera's entrance to grab the flashlight. If she had known how much of the theatre she would be forced to investigate, her common sense would have demanded her to retain its services. Strangely, though, it was not where she had left it.

_I know I put it back onto the coat check desk…Didn't I?_

Not having the time to ponder further, she settled on a matchbook that she'd noticed earlier in the ticket booth. She pocketed the matches and raced back to her mother's private dressing room. She ignored the rips and tears she heard, knowing that her dress was a small sacrifice to the cause.

Aveline didn't know how she knew, but she was sure her quest was almost complete. She wanted it to be over. If she could confront the Phantom, maybe she could convince him to let her go.

Once she was back in her mother's room, she placed the two halves of the mask into the mahogany wall. The five hearts that circled underneath the Phantom's mask spun around to show yet another part of the puzzle.

Dejected that there was still more to do, her knees buckled underneath her. She crumpled to the floor, exhausted from running around the Opera House. How much more would the Phantom require of her?

_Steady, Aveline…just breathe. Five hearts? I'll look around, find each and every one. I've come this far, I can do this._

She shakily stood and looked around. The only heart-shaped object that she found in the room was on the mannequin bust. Around its neck was a necklace with a white heart pendant. As soon as she grabbed the pendant, the Phantom's voice rang out.

"You shall find another in the cold."

Her brow furrowed in dismay. When she pushed the white heart into one of the recesses of the wall, it fit perfectly. Apparently, she had to look in the cold for another heart. But how many "cold" places had she been to? She figured that he most likely meant outside, so she started on the floor she currently occupied.

The spiral staircase brought her back to the roof, where she surveyed her surroundings. If she had to look for a white heart in the middle of snow, this task would prove to be most difficult. She saw nothing heart-shaped, so she returned to the backstage area.

The next place she checked was the graveyard. She scanned the snow, the tombstones, the statues…and found nothing. Her teeth chattered, and she ran back inside.

There was only one more way to the outside, to the snow: the area outside the conservatory. She rushed, again, to the other side of the opera, from the backstage to underground, through the two-way mirror and the lobby, down the original hallways and past the first rooms that she had explored.

Her reward was finding a blue jeweled heart in the knot of a tree trunk.

"It will be black, but glistening with moonlight, in a crevice within the wall."

_Fine, so the next heart is black? In the moonlight…within a wall…_

The Phantom's clues led her to believe that the heart would be on the rooftop. But she had just been there, and she had seen no heart.

_Then again, if it's black, I may not have seen it._

She walked back through the Opera House towards the spiral staircase; if she had three more hearts to find, she would need to pace herself. It was as if the Phantom was purposefully trying to deplete her energy.

Once on the rooftop, she did, indeed, find a black heart nestled amongst the rocks that made up a wall on the roof. She placed it into her pocket that still held the blue heart and the matches.

"Buried in books is the next one you seek."

The Phantom's clues were becoming much less vague. Clearly he, too, wished for her journey to come to an end. She passed through the Opera House to the opposite side, again, cursing how he was making her run laps around the large space.

In the library, a bright pink heart leaned against a pile of books on the lowest shelf. She pocketed it and waited for the Phantom to tell her where the last heart would be found.

"You'll find the last heart where the dead lie."

She sighed and began to trudge back through the Opera House to the graveyard. Stepping through the mirror in the ladies' lounge to the spy room, she was not as careful as she had previously been. Her dress caught itself, again, and she cut her hand when she attempted to free herself. Aveline hissed at the pain, and then ripped a long swatch of her dress off the hemline to cover the wound.

When she reached the boiler room, she paused.

Someone had placed a music stand in the charcoal piled on the floor. The stand had sheet music on it…something entitled "A Symphony of Fire". _If the Phantom is truly a ghost, then he must be a very powerful poltergeist, to be able to put this all together._

The firelight shone through holes and cuts made in the music, creating a familiar scene on the brick wall on the opposite end of the room. _A symphony…lines with notes…the music of the night?_

Aveline studied where the circular cuts fell, having them correspond to musical notes.

_E, G, D, G…_ The notes were like old friends. She assumed they were on the treble clef, and she hummed them to keep them in her memory.

Below the fire-lit image, a brick was missing from the wall. Inside the gap were four black candles.

_It can't be a coincidence. Four notes, four candles… round slots, round candle bases…_

She took the four candles with her, still humming the short series of notes.

Once inside the crypt, she first removed the box of matches and lit enough of the candles in the tall candelabras to aid her sight. The first thing that she saw was the red heart that twinkled in the soft glow. The last heart was placed in her pocket with its brethren.

She focused her attention on the sarcophagus. Although she knew she needed to complete the puzzle, her body trembled at the idea of finding yet another corpse. Fighting the urge to flee, she placed the candles on the notes that matched the four-note ditty and lit them all.

The sound of stone grinding upon stone could be heard, but the mechanism was out of her sight. The coffin mercifully moved on its own accord.

There was no body inside…but there _was_ a black rose.


	6. Into the Dark

Four hearts and a fourth black rose were carried to what once had been the famous Christine Daae's dressing room. Her daughter, Aveline, who bore the objects to the room, felt the ice that had collected at her hemline begin to thaw indoors. She walked slowly, catching her breath from the mad rush she had put herself through.

Her steps seemed steadfast enough, but her heart felt only trepidation. The Phantom of the Opera would be waiting, somewhere, for the black rose that she possessed. Surely she had seen every part of the enormous Paris Opera. She was certain that the end of their game was near.

As she walked back from the crypt, she contemplated what she would say to her captor. What could she say to him that she hadn't? Perhaps, at this point, all that was left to do was plead with him. Or would it be better to just listen? He had murdered before…she did not wish to be his next target.

When she arrived to her mother's room, she placed the remaining four colorful hearts in the holes in the wall. Nothing changed.

Had she missed something?

Aveline looked at the colors: white, blue, black, pink, and red. They probably had a specific order to them. Where had she seen those colors before…

She left the room and searched for the scrap of paper that she had found on one of the sewing tables. After pushing some swatches of material, she located it.

_Ladies, the following costumes will be needed  
for the Phantom's opera, "Don Juan Triumphant":  
our hero in royal blue, his love in pure white, the  
sister in a seductive crimson, their friend in pink,  
and, lastly, the villain in black. – A._

She was about to return to the room, but she recognized the characters from another piece of scrap paper. Having used the elevator multiple times, Aveline no longer worried for her safety. She picked up the piece of paper that she had discarded what must have been hours before.

_Daroga, I am aware that Mssr. Andre has already  
informed you of the cast order. This shall be your  
last reminder. First, the villain appears, shrouded  
in darkness. Next, the valiant hero and the delicate  
matron will come onstage. Please give them generous  
lighting. After them, the provocative sister of the  
heroine will appear. She is to be bathed in a red light.  
Lastly, the heroine herself will come onstage. She  
must have an ethereal glow about her. Do not lose  
these instructions…or you will lose your job. – F._

Aveline made her way back to the private room and stood in front of the wooden wall. She switched the hearts, according to the order on the stagehand's paper. Black, blue, pink, red, and white… The ground her began to hum and quake, while the mahogany wall sank into its depths. She was unable to scream, but she moved away from the sinking wall and held the vanity table to steady herself. Her eyes betrayed her fear.

As the wall moved, it revealed a mirror the size of a doorway. Once completely exposed, the mirror changed from its reflective purpose to a window. The Phantom was backlit in the mirror, with one hand outstretched to her. The purple lights in her room dimmed, so that he was the only visible entity.

"Are you ready to end this journey? Bring me another black rose, and a new chapter in your life will begin!"

Aveline shakily held up the rose she had found in his crypt.

"On that night, on the rooftop of my beloved Opera, you broke my heart. But now you are with me…and I am whole, again."

The glass slid to the side, and the Phantom, as real as a man could be, stepped through the doorway. She contemplated running, but her body merely cowered against the vanity, shrinking away from his intimidating presence.

"I gave you everything, but you chose him over me! The pain I felt from your betrayal would not lessen with time. I destroyed this Opera House, determined that no one would sing in your place ever again!"

His hardened eyes softened at her meek appearance. He crossed by her and locked the door that led away from him. He strode back to her terrified form and stood beside her, facing the spot he had just vacated.

"Through this very mirror, I taught you how to sing."

"Why have you brought me here?" The words escaped Aveline's lips before she could register thinking them. Her hand flew to her mouth, but she stood straight up to face him.

His eyes, the only visible part of his body, raked over her. There was…longing. Desperation. Almost as if he couldn't believe that she was there with him.

"Destiny brought us both here," he replied.

He left her side momentarily and pushed the curtain away from the closet. Aveline watched, flabbergasted, as the Phantom picked out an emerald dress with black and gold trimmings. He placed it over the changing screen and pointed her toward it.

"I beg your pardon, but I am NOT going to change in front of you."

Erik's eyes narrowed. He grabbed her by her upper arm and dragged her to the screen. He flung her behind it, and then he walked back to the center of the room and stood with his arms folded over his chest.

"You will _not_ be dressed as a street urchin in my realm. Change. NOW."

Aveline winced and looked down at her dress. What had once been her favorite new garment was now a stained, torn rag. She dutifully changed behind the protection of the modesty screen, wondering if she was putting on a dress that her mother had previously worn. It was most likely.

She left her yellow dress in a heap on the floor. She checked the pocket, but realized that she had used everything that she had placed in it. The barrette that had graced her locks was long gone, most likely in a snow bank that she had run past. Her shoes were in a dreadful state, so she removed them and found a like pair in the closet. Fully dressed, she stepped away from the screen and twisted her hands around nervously.

"Come with me."

Without warning, the Phantom grabbed her wrist and pulled her through the open doorway, down a spiraled stone stairway. Aveline could not pull away, or she would risk falling. Instead, she struggled to keep up with the Phantom's quickening strides.

"Wait!" she called out. "Where are you taking me? I'm not who you think I am!"

He did not turn to face her, but continued their hurried descent.

"Have you already forgotten your Angel of Music? No matter, I shall make you remember!"

At the bottom of the stairwell, the Phantom ushered her into a small boat. Her confusion and breathlessness would not allow her to question him further, so she settled herself on the wooden seat and prayed that he wasn't rowing them toward her final resting place.

"Welcome to my lair," the Opera Ghost exclaimed proudly. "Here, our lives will begin anew. And this time, you _will_ stay with me…forever."

The humble craft made its way across the underground lake, until it arrived at a large iron gate. As they approached, the Phantom steered the boat toward a lever on the side of the gate's archway. Once prodded down by the oar, the chains noisily lifted the metal toward the basement of the Opera House.

On the other side of the gate was what appeared to be the entrance to more catacombs. The boat idled, as the Phantom swerved to close the gate behind them. Aveline's heart sank in time with the wrought iron that blocked her way out.

They pulled up to stone steps, and he gestured for her to disembark. Erik tied up the boat, placed the oar inside, and escorted her up the small stairway. His gloved hand gently held her elbow, leading her on the path to his home.

Inside, candles saturated the room with their tender light; Aveline took in the beautiful surroundings. There was a large pipe organ on one end of the cavernous room, and several doorways leading to more mysterious rooms. Ecru lace and blood-red curtains hung from the stone walls, deceitfully covering the fact that they were, in fact, housed in a cave. Opulent furniture that had been collected over time was scattered about. Some of the more elegant prop pieces from previous shows had been brought down, and they both added to the décor and paid homage to the madman's love for the theatre.

"Welcome home, my love."

When she looked back to the Phantom, she found that he had been unashamedly staring at her. She blushed at the attention and pulled away. Keen on her situation, she began to search for a way out. Her eyes scanned the room, no longer appraising its contents. Erik moved to the organ and began to play the same complex melody she had heard while still hunting for black roses in the Opera House. Every door that she tried was locked. There appeared to be no way out…without his consent.

"Please, Monsieur Erik, I have done what you've asked. Please let me go!"

He continued playing, unmoved by her words.

"The first thing I require is for you to sing. My dear, it has been too long, and I need your lovely voice to soothe my spirit."

"I AM NOT CHRISTINE!"

The Phantom halted his playing and twisted to face her.

"I SAID SING!"

She had invited him to yell at her, she understood. She sighed and shook her head.

"No, please sir, I-I cannot sing. I haven't my mother's voice."

"Have you forgotten _everything_ I've taught you?"

_Why does he not understand me? Does he just refuse to listen to truth?_

Aveline slowly stepped toward him, stopping mere feet away from where he was seated.

"Please, _monsieur_, listen to me."

She hesitated, but sat down beside him. The Phantom was taken aback by her volunteered act. He did not interrupt.

"My name is Aveline de Chagny. I am the only child of Christine and Raoul. I haven't the talent for singing, as my mother does…did." Her voice softened at the confession. "I wish I _could_ sing."

"You can," he tenderly replied. "_Try_."

Relenting, Aveline stood and tried to sing a simple scale for him. Her voice was not unpleasant, but it was juvenile in sound. When she reached the highest note, her voice cracked and faltered. The Phantom angrily stood and threw the bench he had been seated on away from them. The violent action reverberated through the cavern, and Aveline stopped singing.

Erik let out an enraged yell to the ceiling and clenched his fists. Fearful that he would kill her, she collapsed to the ground in defeat. He quickly grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back to a standing position.

"Where is she? Where is my angel?"

"M-my m-mother? She is back home with my father. I don't underst-"

"I need her!"

"Then why did you kidnap _me_?"

He turned away from her, and she reached for his mask.

"Who are you?"

Erik shielded himself from her approaching hands, then grabbed both of her wrists and held her struggling frame.

"Don't you dare raise your hand to me! What you see is who I am, who I've always been, and who I will always be!"

He let go of her hands, satisfied that she would keep them to herself. Aveline rubbed her wrists, still afraid of the man in front of her. She had tried reasoning with him, she had tried yelling at him, and she'd even tried to attack him. Nothing had worked.

_I am still playing his game, _she realized._ I need to try placating him. If I can get him to sympathize with me, he may let me go…_

"I am so sorry, Erik. I won't do that again, I promise."

The Phantom glared at her, suspicious of her sudden apology. Undeterred, she continued.

"I wish I could sing. I really do. Growing up, I always loved music. It's my passion. My parents-"

Erik's eyes went hard, but she pressed on.

"My parents took me to see Madam Durand, when I was eleven. I'll never forget listening to her play. I had already been taking piano lessons, but, when I heard her, I became almost obsessive. I wanted to play the piano as well as my mother sang."

He glowered down at her.

"And? Do you?" His voice dripped condescension.

"I-I'm not sure-"

He grabbed her wrist, again, and pulled her to one of the locked doors. Out of his breast pocket, he pulled a ring with several keys set in it. Finding the right one for the door, he led them through to a magnificent black grand piano that sat in the middle of a room with mirrored walls. Off to the side of the instrument was a music stand, but no sheet music was present on either the stand or the piano.

The Phantom let go of her and used his open palm to gesture to the piano bench. She nodded and gingerly sat down. She breathed deeply and took a moment to familiarize herself with his instrument.

Behind her, Erik watched in amusement as she lovingly stroked the ivory keys.

She played one of her favorite pieces. Luckily, she knew much of the music she studied by heart, and this one best of all. She had first heard Madam Durand play this haunting melody at the concert, and she did not give her parents any reprieve until they had secured a copy for her.

Erik moved to her side and seated himself on the bench beside her. Her hands hovered above the keys, awaiting his next move.

"Please," he whispered into his mask. "Continue."

She did. She focused on her playing, and, out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that the Phantom was focused on her hands, too. The last few notes called for a _ritardando_, and she played them with as much emotion as she could possibly manage. When she finished, she shyly glanced over at the man next to her. He was still staring at the now vacant keyboard, looking as though he was in absolute disbelief.

She cleared her throat. "Erik?"

"Thank you," he finally spoke. He looked up at her and stared into her mystified eyes. "I have never heard it played so beautifully."

She blushed at the overwhelming compliment.

"That is an honor, sir. You've heard it before, then?"

He still studied her.

"Yes…it is my original composition."


	7. The Plan Revealed

**Dear reviewers,**

**Thank you for your input on the story! I asked each of you the same two questions, and the consensus was almost unanimous. The rating for this fic will remain at "M," which means we'll see some action coming up. As for whether or not Aveline will be rescued…I am still playing around with an ending that will *hopefully* satisfy both factions.**

…

**For those of you who don't review, I hope you are all enjoying the story, too! If you could take the time to chime in with your thoughts, I will most definitely respond. **

**I have tried and tried and tried to secure a Beta for either of my POTO stories…with no luck. The only thing I really **_**need**_** is plot direction/consistency. Because I don't have a Beta to help me out, I will probably continue to seek assistance from reviewers. If you would like to give your input, please review!**

**Jenn**

The Phantom's confession shocked Aveline. So much so, that she did not believe his statement.

"It was Madam Durand whom I first heard play that piece," she explained. "It stirred my heart. I was already playing piano, at that point, but after that concert, I knew I wanted feel that way again."

She hesitated. He still sat silently beside her, staring at the vacant keys.

"I believe the sheet music indicated that a Mr. Octave Genereux was the composer."

The Phantom chuckled. "O.G."

"I beg your pardon?"

He acknowledged her, then, looking through his mask into her questioning eyes.

"'O.G.' was an oft used nickname of mine. 'Opera Ghost' is what it stands for. I couldn't very well use that as an alias for my music, so I came up with 'Octave Genereux'."

Aveline's shocked expression did not seem to faze the man beside her.

"_You're_ Octave Genereux? You _wrote_ all of that music?"

"I am and I did."

"How…"

She was silenced when he rose from the piano bench in one graceful movement.

"I was devastated when your mother fled with the Vicomte. I mourned my loss through music. Your mother was not a dancer, so she probably did not know Madam Durand. Francine played for all of the ballet rehearsals, but she was meant for so much more."

He paced the mirrored room, occasionally locking eye contact with the young girl who still sat at the lone instrument.

"After I destroyed the Opera, she was forced to teach the bourgeoisie children of the city."

Aveline winced, thinking of her own limited future.

"I could not let her talent go to waste, so I brought her my songs. She started playing in small concerts, at first, slowly gaining her footing in a difficult trade. Years later, her persistence and my brilliance led her to stardom."

She wanted to scoff at his lack of humility, but she was able to reign in the mocking gesture. He had stopped at one of the mirrors, now, and he stared past his reflected self.

"Francine Durand played _my_ music for hundreds of thousands of Europeans. I was satisfied to let her be in the spotlight…with the understanding that she would owe me a very large favor."

He turned to look at Aveline and approached her slowly.

"When she gave me word that she had been contacted by the daughter of the Vicomte de Chagny, I conducted my plan through her."

Aveline's heart began to pound and her throat constricted.

"Your plan?" she was able to squeak out.

The Phantom now stood over her, his expressionless mask capturing her complete attention.

"She accepted your request at my command. I instructed her to set up your tutorial, without actually expecting you to attend."

"My parents will notice my absence, and they will come for me!"

His gloved hand shot out and grabbed her chin forcefully.

"They will have no reason to worry, as you will be writing them of your experiences with Madam Durand."

"And when they write back? How will you intercept their letters?"

His eyes narrowed in the gaping holes of the mask.

"_I_ don't need to intercept anything," he hissed. "Francine will forward all correspondence to me."

Aveline had nothing to say to that. Apparently the Phantom's plan was, indeed, very well thought out. Except…

"But why did you refer to me as if I was my mother?"

He let go of her chin, then. His eyes still bored into hers, but they softened before he answered.

"I lured you to get Christine back. When I found out that she would be staying in Versailles…" he cleared his throat angrily. "When I found out that she would not even be setting foot in her beloved Paris, I came after her."

Aveline's mind raced through the events of her final night in Versailles. _Was he following us?_ The Phantom grazed her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. She froze and permitted the act to continue.

"You look so like her," he whispered. "So like my Christine, my love."

She pulled away at the comparison and frowned.

"Clearly, her likeness is the only part of your mother that you inherited."

His words were biting, and she inwardly cringed. Aveline didn't need to be reminded that she would never live up to her mother. She had been compared to her by everyone who had ever heard her mother sing. When she was younger, she was eager to prove that she was her mother's daughter. As she grew, the fact that she did not have her mother's heavenly voice caused her to resent having strangers question her level of talent. Christine, in her defense, would share her daughter's aptitude for piano playing. Aveline never missed the way their eyes would glaze over…everyone knew a pianist. It was nothing as impressive as an opera diva.

"Well… you've mistakenly kidnapped me, instead of my mother, and here we are. Underneath the opera house that you destroyed. The woman you love is 700 kilometers away, with her _husband_ whom she loves very much. I cannot sing for you like she used to, apparently. So, now what shall we do?"

If she had been able to see underneath his mask, she would have seen the smirk that complimented the squint of his eyes.

"I can think of something," his voice taunted.

Her innocent mind was unable to follow the insinuation.

"You could let me go. It was an honest mistake. Just take me back up, and I'll find my way back home-"

"YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!" he yelled. He grabbed her forearm in a strong grip. She struggled to pull away, but his hold remained firm. "If I'm not able to have Christine, then you will have to do."

The pain, coupled with the harsh statement, caused her eyes to water.

"So I am to be your prisoner down here? Because I am the daughter of the woman you obsessed over? Why don't you just kill me and have your revenge?"

She gasped as the words left her mouth. Had she truly just suggested murder to a madman? She bit her lower lip, wishing that she could take back the last question.

Erik loosened his grip and brought his other hand up to trap her other arm.

"There's no need to resort to violence," he reasoned. "Not yet, anyway."

He led her out of the mirrored room, not bothering to lock the door behind them. They came to another door, which he unlocked. Stepping through the threshold, a beautifully furnished bedroom awaited inside. The rich reds and deep shades of the main cavern melted into pastel and golden prints that soothed upon sight. The walls were still stone, but the candlelight added a soft touch.

"This will be your room."

"Until when?" she whined. "What will I do, here?"

"We'll negotiate that over dinner," he muttered. He left her side, then, and walked out the door. She ran to follow, but the door was slammed and locked before she had crossed the room.

She turned in a circle, slowly assessing her surroundings. She wondered if her mother had ever stayed in these quarters. If she had, it had probably not been voluntary.

Everything around her was…familiar. A vanity, a large mirror, a changing screen, a dresser…the same pieces of furniture that had appeared in her mother's dressing room backstage. They were duplicates. The bed was luxurious and large, with a four-post frame and canopy.

Off to the side of the room was a curiously big crevice in the wall. Upon further inspection, she found that it was actually a small tunnel that led to an underground spring. Steam rose from the water's surface in a slothful manner. She was too afraid of what could possibly be hidden in the depths, so she returned to the room and threw herself onto the bed.

The mattress was soft and extremely comfortable. Aveline was tired, having run throughout the Paris Opera and its extensive grounds. She thought about what the Phantom had said…something about negotiating? What could he possibly do for her?

She thought of Madam Durand. On one hand, she was incensed that her hero had aided a madman to kidnap her. What woman would do such a thing to another woman's child? To another woman? On the other hand, she was repaying a hefty favor. The Phantom must have truly orchestrated her career, if she was willing to assist in an illegal act for the sake of obligation.

Madam Durand was wonderful. Aveline could be wonderful, too. The Phantom had candidly confided that Aveline had played his piece better than anyone…better even than the corruptible Madam Francine Durand. Maybe the Phantom, Erik, could make Aveline a star, too.

The prospect of having her own career was beyond appealing. Traveling throughout Europe, throughout the world, to perform for crowds of music lovers…playing in a proper orchestra for an opera or maybe one of the new musical theatre shows that seemed to be gaining popularity. He could do that… If he did it for Madam Durand, he could do it for her.

But if Madam Durand owed the Phantom a large favor, what would be the price for Aveline's stardom?

She was not able to dwell on the last topic for long, as sleep overtook her.

Aveline awoke to the sound of her door being unlocked. Her body was sluggish from her nap, but she forced herself to sit upright and present an alert front.

Erik walked through the door and gestured for her to come to him. She cocked an eyebrow at him and looked away. A sound like a growl came from the inside of his mask. It was muffled, but present. She still refused to acknowledge him.

He crossed the room and stood right in front of her, willing her to be submissive. When he shot a hand out, she frowned and accepted it reluctantly. He pulled her from her seated position and led her from her bedroom to another bedroom. Clearly, it was meant to be his chambers.

His room was a brilliant array of jewel tones. Deep purples, royal blues, emerald greens…draped fabric of the most expensive quality was on display upon all of the walls and furnishings. The floor was an overlapping array of Persian rugs of various patterns and colors. Unlike her room and the large cavern, no stone was visible. His bed was larger than hers, unsurprisingly, but the pure white sheets brightly contrasted with the colorful surroundings. Unlike the other two rooms she had seen, there was not a single mirror.

She relaxed when her eyes fell upon the small table that had been set for two. A petite candelabra with white tapers was lit at its center, with red rose petals encircling its base. The crisp white linen cloth that covered the table looked as if it had never been used. The dining ware was polished brilliantly, making the pieces the only reflective surfaces in the room.

He escorted her to one of the chairs and pulled it out for her to sit. She did so gracefully, out of habit from her upbringing. Momentarily, he stepped out of the room; when he returned, he carried a silver platter. Unveiling its contents, Aveline was shocked to see and smell what looked to be a roasted leg of lamb with boiled potatoes on the side. He served her first, then himself, before placing the tray on a dresser and sitting down.

He looked at her expectantly.

"Um…I'm sorry," she started. "Is there a kitchen in this underground cavern, as well? Am I not your sole prisoner? Do you hold a cook hostage somewhere underneath the Opera House?"

His eyes narrowed within the confines of the mask.

"Yes, there is a kitchen, and I am the cook."

She stared dumbfoundedly at him.

"Are you not hungry, Aveline?" he questioned. "If you are not going to eat, I may as well _escort_ you back to your room." His voice was becoming venomous, so she picked up the fork.

The potatoes were excellent and the lamb was better than she had ever tasted.

"This is quite good. I was just surprised to see…" her comment went unfinished as a question sprang to her mind. "I'm sorry, but…_how_ is there a kitchen down here?"

The Phantom leaned back in his chair and rested his arms on the arm rests.

"Years ago, when I was about your age, they did extensive remodeling of this place," he began. "I had a passion for architecture, so I wanted to be a part of it. Because of my youth and my disfigurement, they refused to let me do anything more than basal grunt work. I bided my time, stealing building materials and hiding them in the catacombs or in the lake. When the job was done, I begged them to let me stay on as an on-site carpenter or laborer. I had come to think of the Opera as my home."

She ate slowly, listening to his tale.

"They refused my proposal and mocked me, calling me 'the phantom of the Opera'." His eyes twinkled, and she imagined he smiled grimly. "I suppose I should have thanked them for the moniker, seeing as it inspired my later actions."

"But how did you create all of this?" She used the fork to gesture around herself, curious as to what he would have to say.

"It took years. I didn't complete it alone. I hired men and women with no moral scruples to follow my instructions. Some of them I swore to secrecy. Those who could not be trusted were killed."

Aveline choked on her food. "Killed?" her voice rasped out.

The Phantom stood and walked to the table where the platter lay. He poured her a glass of red wine and returned. She drank gratefully and dabbed the cloth napkin in her lap on her wine-stained lips.

"Yes, I've killed. You already know this." His words were matter-of-fact, almost bored sounding.

"Right," she confirmed, wishing to change the topic. She noticed that he had not touched his food. His mask was still in place. "Are you not going to eat with me?"

His eyes suddenly looked pained. "No, I would rather not spoil your appetite. I will eat later."

"Right," she nervously repeated. _New topic, then. _"And how is it that you became such an accomplished cook? Or is this the only dish you are proficient in executing?"

He leaned toward her then, placing an elbow on the table to lean his chin on.

"Well, I _am_ French."

The laughter escaped from her lips before she could fully give herself permission to respond to his flirtation.


	8. A Bargain Struck

**For those of you who expected this to be posted on Friday (because that's what I told you)…I'm sorry. I suck at life. If you read "His Consolation Prize" (my other POTO fic), a more detailed explanation (read: excuse) is at the forefront of Chapter 13.**

**This chapter is a bit Steinbeck-y. Lots of description with little plot reward. I apparently have a hard time letting the reader fill in the incidentals (i.e. personal hygiene).**

The dinner was filling, but the conversation was most definitely lacking. After the light flirtation, Aveline had not brought up any other topics. Erik had ceased talking, as well, opting to watch her finish her meal. When she was finished, she gently placed her napkin back onto the table and sat back into her chair.

"You are satisfied?" he asked. He was sitting back in his chair too, elbow on the arm rests and hands clasped together.

"Yes, thank you," Aveline politely replied. "What time is it now?"

Without averting his gaze, he reached inside a breast pocket and pulled out a beautiful sterling silver pocket watch. His eyes darted down to read the time, and then returned to hers. "It's nearly ten o'clock."

"In the evening? Already?"

He nodded in response and placed the watch back into its spot.

"Why did you have me running around in circles, searching for those black roses?"

"Punishment, amusement, revenge, nostalgia…choose whichever motivation you please."

"But you thought I was my mother," she clarified. "You believed I was…Christine?"

He sighed and leaned toward her. As he did so, the hood of his coat fell back to reveal dark brown hair with intermittent streaks of grey.

"You could be her mirror image…" he said softly. His voice trailed off in bitter regret.

"Yes," she blushed. "I know. I saw the painting…well, the paintings. There are so many. Her hair is darker, now, though."

His eyes twinkled in imagination, so she indulged him further.

"And it's less curly than in the portraits. Though, she wears it up most of the time. She has a few grey hairs, too, but she refuses to acknowledge them; Father always tells her that she looks as beautiful as the first time he laid eyes upon her at the Opera."

She could not see his expression, but there was a tell-tale chill in the air. Perhaps it was a mistake to mention her father, again. It was time to change the subject, once more.

"You mentioned us negotiating over dinner?" she innocently questioned.

"I will not give you your freedom, if that is what you'll attempt to barter for," he warned.

Aveline frowned at the pre-emptive veto. A thought flew into her head, then, that refused to stay silent.

"Could you…teach me?"

She couldn't tell for sure, but she was fairly certain that he was smiling like the Cheshire cat underneath the full mask.

"You would have to be extremely dedicated." His tone was bored, but his gleaming eyes betrayed his interest in their deal. "I will not waste my time on some little princess that is used to getting her way."

"I am NOT-" she began to refute his slighting remark, but took a deep breath to calm herself. "I will be an apt pupil, _monsieur_. You shall see."

"Indeed."

He rose from his seat and walked to the other side of the small table. When he slid her chair out from under her, she stood automatically and stepped away from him. She placed her hand upon his offered arm and allowed him to escort her back to her room.

Once there, she dared to ask the follow-up question to her request.

"What will be the price for the instruction you'll be giving me?" She let go of his arm and stood by the bed. He remained a respectful distance away.

"I haven't had time to think of a proper form of payment for such a service," he silkily said. "Let me think on it a bit longer, and I'm sure I will be able to come up with something…appropriate."

She nodded and raised the back of her hand to shield the yawn that left her lips. He bowed slightly and then turned to leave. Before he left, he turned his head to the side and whispered.

"Goodnight, my angel."

The door shut behind him, and Aveline could hear the sound of the iron keys jingling…before one of them was used to lock her inside. Realizing that there was nothing she could do, she set out to investigate the rest of her quarters.

There was no closet full of clothes, like her mother's dressing room contained. She was pleased, however, to find nightgowns and undergarments in the drawers of the armoire. Behind the changing screen, there were three more dresses hung against the wall. She flitted through each one quickly, chartreuse, amethyst, rose, taking inventory of what would most likely be her new wardrobe.

She frowned at the lack of garments. Four dresses, including the emerald one she wore. Perhaps the Phantom would eventually buy her more?

Turning away from the screen, she focused on the vanity. On its table was a hand-held mirror with beautifully intricate design. Next to the mirror were several compacts with untouched powders inside. In the drawers of the vanity were many colors of makeup, although they were quite a bit darker than what Aveline typically wore. Clearly, he had stolen the theatrical makeup supplies before they had seen any use.

She sat upon the plush stool and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was wild and wind-swept. She rooted through the contents of the vanity, until she found a hairbrush. Like the other items, there was no evidence of usage. Not even one hair.

If her mother had stayed down here with him, it had not been long. And yet, it looked as though the Phantom had decorated this room exclusively for Christine. Aveline could only imagine the reaction her mother would have had to this elegant prison.

She brushed out the unseen tangles in her hair and placed the brush back onto the table. Now that her hair was back to its normal wavy self, she studied her reflection. The deep green dress she wore was truly gorgeous. Absent-mindedly, she picked up small pot of rouge and applied the deep crimson color to her lips. The effect was most shocking, but she found herself imagining applying the foreign substance each night for an audience of thousands.

_Do I look like I belong onstage?_

Luckily, there were tissues on the table, so she used one to take off the offending color. Her lips still retained a small amount of the dye, but she shrugged and stood to continue her investigation.

She felt a slight breeze and turned toward its origin. Beside the crevice that led to the spring was a curtain. She had noticed it earlier, but assumed it was a wall decoration. Similar to the Phantom's many tapestries and drapes that attempted to disguise the wall. This thick pink fabric, however, was billowing.

She moved it aside and allowed the light in her chamber to flood the small space. There was a flattened porcelain ring atop a small rock cliff against the wall. Inside the ring, the rock was holed out. She could not tell how deep the chasm went, but she could faintly hear the sound of rushing water below. On the ground were various small vials. She knelt down to pick one up, curious as to what it would contain. The liquids were all clear; the one she held smelled strongly of…lavender.

Realization dawned upon her. This was a commode. Not as sophisticated as what one might find in an actual house, but brilliantly configured, considering they were underground.

She let the drape drop back into place. There was nothing else to see, at the moment. Her eyelids were heavy. The exhaustion from the day caught up with her, so she relented and changed into one of the nightgowns. She quickly blew out the tapers on the two candelabras that stood on either end of the room.

The bed was, once again, soft and inviting. She jumped into it hastily, as the thin material of her gown did nothing to shield her from the cold atmosphere. On the bedside table was the last source of light: an oil lamp. Rifling through the drawer of the small table, she found a box of matches. Relieved that she would be able to relight the lamp and candles, she placed the box right next to the lamp.

Before extinguishing the light, she looked at the last item on the table: a strange mechanical monkey sitting atop an ornate metal box. She sat up in bed and brought it closer. On the side of the box was a wind-up lever. _A music box?_

She turned the lever several times, curious to hear the tune it that would play…assuming it still worked.

As a light-hearted melody began, the monkey sprang to life. The cymbals he clasped in his hands met in a clapping motion. The noise was only a slight ting, neither adding to nor detracting from the simple song.

Aveline placed the animated instrument back onto the bedside table and turned off the lamp. The unfamiliar music continued to play, the notes floating off into the complete darkness. After a little while, the mechanism began to slow. The melody played each note as if they were words from a dying man's mouth.

Outside the room, the tune picked up in tempo. It was muffled, but she could faintly hear the organ carry on the music box's melody. However, after playing the seven repeating bars, the song continued. A baseline was added, with a more complex chord structure.

She wondered what came first: the song or the music box. Had Erik been inspired by the toy to create an entire musical composition? Or had the music motivated him to make or commission the music box? Her ears registered that the Phantom was still playing on the old organ, but her eyes were too heavy to remain open. The simple musings were the last thing on her mind before she fell asleep.

The night passed peacefully, with Aveline kept warm under the layers of covers. Her body did not stir, as it regained the rest it had been deprived of within the past day and a half.

In her dreams, she was playing in a large concert hall. The mostly blurred faces in the crowd showed no one of recollection. Then one of the faces became clear. It was her mother. Another face nearby was revealed as her father. Both of her parents looked worried, so she smiled reassuringly back. She knew what she was doing. Another face…Madam Durand…at least the woman had the decency to look ashamed. And something else…envious? She searched the crowd for more familiar faces, but they were all still inconsequential blurs. She turned her eyes toward the offstage wing of the theatre. The Phantom stood in the shadows, his mask the only visible part within the darkness. The mask nodded, willing her to begin her performance…her debut.

Waking up was difficult. Her mind was still thick with sleep, and she was surrounded by pitch black. When she was unable to stand being stuck in bed any longer, she felt around for the box of matches on the table. It took several tries, but she was finally able to light the oil lamp.

She sat up and stretched. Her weary limbs were officially sore from the strenuous activity of the previous day. Racing up and down stairs, climbing ladders, and maneuvering through passages had taken their toll.

Braving the cold, she nimbly stepped through the room, desperately wishing that there was a clock within its confines. She made her way to the dresser and exchanged her nightgown for undergarments. After doing that, she used the commode, still marveling at the fact that this stone fortress had a functional lavatory.

She then returned to the three dresses hanging near the screen. The deep purple dress seemed most appealing to her, at that moment, so she outfitted herself. The material and trimmings were much simpler than the bright green gown she had worn yesterday, but it was a great deal more comfortable. Bits of ecru lace lined the bodice and cuffs of the dress, which still made it a vestment much too dressy to wear in an underground cavern. She put the same black boots on, and, after a thought, tied a black velvet ribbon from the vanity onto her neck.

Ready for the day, she headed for the door. The faint sounds of a piano could be heard through the thick door. Her hand barely touched the handle, before she remembered that she had been locked in. But when she turned the handle, it opened readily.

_When did he unlock it? And why did I not hear it?_

The fact that he had unlocked the door without her knowing disturbed her to no end. She worried about what else could have transpired while she slept so soundly.

Outside her door, the organ sat unoccupied. The candlelight was less brilliant, as many of the candles were unlit. On the far side of the large space was the corridor that would lead back down to the lake. When she looked to her right, she saw that the piano room door was open. The song the Phantom played was resonating through the cavern. She supposed that he expected her to walk through the door at any time.

Her eyes wandered back to the corridor. It would lead to a stairway that would end at a platform. And against that concrete slab would be a boat with an oar inside. Would she be able to navigate back to the winding stone staircase? Could she figure out the gate mechanism blocking her way? Was there, perhaps, another way out?

She started toward the corridor, but stopped mid-stride when the doorway to the mirrored room came into view. The Phantom sat at the bench, playing passionately, with his back to her. Trusting…or maybe just confident that any escape attempt would be easily thwarted.

The uncertainty was what changed her mind. Not knowing, for certain, that she would be able to escape. The fear that, if she failed, he would be angered…and what he would do in retribution.

_Not today…_she resigned, as she walked toward the mirrored room.

No sooner did she walk through the doorway that he greeted her, his back still toward her.

"Good morning, Aveline," he cordially spoke. His hands still fluidly played the charismatic piece.

"Is it morning? I haven't anything to reference the time of day. No clock, no sun in the sky…"

"Does it really matter? You have just awoken; therefore, it is morning for us."

She rolled her eyes, unable to refute his subjective logic.

He continued playing, and she paced the room, listening. She did not recognize the piece, but it sounded…jubilant, spirited. When he had finished, she turned to face him. He was staring at her, again. He sat on the bench, with his hands on his thighs.

Slowly, he stood and beckoned her to be seated.

She obediently crossed the room and sat upon the bench, adjusting her position to a comfortable distance from the keyboard. There was no music on the rack, so she awaited instruction. He stood at her back. She tensed at the awkward silence.

"What shall I play?"

"A scale, any scale."

Aveline let out a very unladylike snort, then blushed furiously.

"I beg your pardon, _monsieur_, but a scale? Truly? I am not a beginner."

"You will infuse emotion into a scale," he ordered. "If you can make the simplest of skills evoke a passionate response, you will be ready to play my music."

She shook her head, but placed her fingertips upon the ivory keys.

"Now," he spoke softly, "let's begin."

Her fingers pressed down, and her hands moved in synchronization. When she finished, she put her hands into her lap and awaited his assessment.

"That was entirely uninspiring," he dryly said. "What emotion, other than boredom, were you attempting to convey?"

"It's a _scale_," she hissed. "An artless precursor and exercise to _real_ music."

"Without emotion, _real_ _music_ is as 'artless' as a scale!"

Aveline pursed her lips in frustration. She completely disagreed, but it was useless to argue with him. When she felt his hand on her shoulder, she flinched. His hold was firm.

"You made the right decision," he remarked. Confused by what he was talking about, Aveline stayed frozen. "You would not have made it far, but nonetheless…I am pleased that you passed your first test."

"Test?"

"Do you really think I would be so careless as to leave your room unlocked and the way to your freedom unblocked? After all the planning to get you here, the puzzles I crafted, the care I put into _everything_…you believe me to be that stupid?"

"I-I don't believe that," she stammered out.

"Indeed." He removed his hand from her shoulder and Aveline relaxed.

He walked to the other side of the piano and faced her. She brought her hands back up to the keys.

"Try again. Play an emotion."

Aveline sat for a moment, contemplating how she would fulfill his request. Taking a deep breath, she played the scale, again, overlapping the notes with both hands. Certain notes were played so softly, they equated to a whisper. Others were played with a strong strike. At times, conflicting notes created ugly dissonance. It _was_ a scale, but much more complex than the one she had played before. When she finished, she placed her hands back into her lap.

While she had played, he had turned toward the mirror. She saw his eyes creased for what she hoped was a smile. When he spoke, his tone was amused.

"Fear."

He turned around and stepped toward her.

"Much better."


End file.
